


Anomalies

by sori



Series: Anomalies [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-14
Updated: 2006-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sori/pseuds/sori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next day, they celebrated the successful activation of the system with sex against a tree. Or at least, Rodney celebrated and Ronon went along for the orgasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anomalies

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Audra for the beta!

Sheppard and Teyla's first visit went something like this: they strolled into the perimeter sometime in the late afternoon, bringing food from the villagers ( _Christ, Rodney, there's no citrus. Just eat it already_.) and news ( _Dr. Weir sends her greetings._ ) and village gossip that Rodney could care less about and Ronon found shockingly fascinating ( _The gladiator thing? They do that here_?).

Rodney captured Sheppard's attention and started in on the heat of the planet and the disturbing trend of vegetarian MREs and companions that didn’t know the true value of scientific exposition. Sheppard shook his head and Rodney could tell he was captivated, at least until he said, "Yeah, okay, just deal with it, Rodney," before strolling over to where Ronon was leaning against a tree talking to Teyla.

"Leave me with him again, Sheppard, and I'm going to kill him." Ronon said, face a stoic mask that looked entirely too controlled for the words flowing from his mouth.

"What? Am I not standing here? _Hello_." Rodney waved his hands through the air, rolling his eyes and rebooting his laptop. "As if he's the one that's going to redesign an entire Ancient early warning system – reintegrate neural faces into the existing system – rewire an entire network – emplace the entire hardware of the system on a backwards alien planet – no coffee, probably _citrus_ , life-sucking bugs – all so he can save your collective worthless asses by activating a ten-thousand-year-old strategic defense network."

Rodney slammed his laptop shut and stomped over to where they were standing and poked Ronon in the chest with his finger. "It would be entirely against regulations if you killed me. Not to mention, that without me, you'll – what's the word I'm looking for, oh, yes – _die_." Shaking his head and sparing one last glare, he turned back and waved Teyla over to show her the connections between the naquada generator and the sensor arrays.

"I'm going to kill him. Slowly," Ronon growled. Rodney pretended not to hear.

**

All in all, the morning hadn’t started off so bad. The planet was mostly safe from all forms of poisonous animals, the plants weren’t causing undue allergic reactions and the heat wasn’t in the category of imminent heat stroke. In fact, Rodney was almost excited about the entire thing. It was going to be seven days of work that would undoubtedly bring him another Nobel Award because, really, who else would be able to wire an Alien technology to access an entirely new cluster of deep-space sensor points that would increase their scanning capabilities 10-fold?

Zelenka maybe, but Rodney would only admit that under considerable duress.

They were situated in a clearing 10,000 meters from the nearest village (although Rodney felt that village was being entirely too politically correct for the true state of the settlement). Trees and more trees, and even more trees, surrounded them and for all scientific reasoning this should be the last place to dig in sensor beacons. But the hills around them contained trace amounts of a mineral that amplified signals, extending the range and making the entire network possible.

The people of the planet were more than willing to negotiate for the use a few hundred meters of land. The dirt was clay like and no good for planting, the trees covered up much of the sunlight, and most of the big-game animals they hunted for food roamed in the flat plains to the south of the village. Fifty cases of MREs and the deal was complete.

Apparently, it had been some sort of goodwill gesture for Teyla and Sheppard to remain in the village until the work on the system was complete. _It shows trust between our peoples_ Teyla had said; Sheppard had just gleefully noted that part of their mission was to forge alliances. He was saying all the right words, but he was also staring at the chest of the chieftain's daughter. Rodney could sense a diplomatic incident in the making.

Rodney had known right from the beginning that leaving him and Ronon alone for a week was going to be bad. They had a solid, mutually satisfactory relationship: they sat one seat apart in the mess hall, walked on opposite sides of their small group on missions, they never attempted inane conversation. Rodney saw no reason to change things at this late date.

It _worked_ ; they _worked_.

Obviously, Sheppard had to go and screw it all up because the first day had gone even worse than Rodney had expected. And that was saying something.

It’d only taken twelve hours, one hole and three equations for Ronon's hands to start twitching above his weapon, fists clenched, face set in a fairly terrifying scowl. Rodney had made one little comment about Sheppard’s intelligence, and maybe two or three comments about the idiocy of the military, and perhaps a few other intriguing asides dealing with the state of their current missions and the horror of the planet and the unsuspecting dangers of alien plant life and UV exposure, and suddenly, Rodney was the bad guy and Ronon was growling and threats were being made.

Rodney figured it was a testament to his patience and teamwork ability that he refrained from commenting on Ronon’s hyper-sensitivity.

“McKay,” Ronon said and Rodney had found himself strangely captivated by the way Ronon’s hands would rhythmically spasm over the butt of his gun.

By the end of the day, every time Rodney moved to make a wholly innocent comment, Ronon would turn and growl, his fingers would start to twitch alarmingly near the large knife attached to his back. By the afternoon, Ronon's gun, usually slung low on his hips and tied around his leg, pulling tight leather pants even tighter, was thankfully slung over his field pack several feet away.

Ronon had taken to pacing back and forth across the clearing during his many breaks from digging. He was like a self-contained explosion that Rodney was able to ignore for the most part by turning up the sound on his laptop.

“Don’t you have actual _work_ to do?” Rodney asked. “Seriously. Because if you don't, I could use some coffee and—."

“McKay, really, shut up.” Ronon was stalking closer, long legs eating up the not-so-great distance between them until they were standing inches apart and Rodney couldn’t help noticing how truly big Ronon was up close and how maybe the look on his face was actually anger and –

Rodney shut up.

And while Rodney didn't truly believe that Ronon would actually follow through on his threats (Sheppard would get annoyed and Weir would bring out the guilt, and Ronon had proven himself strangely affected by both emotions) he wasn't willing to play the odds.

Ronon was nothing if not unpredictable.

“No talking,” Ronon said, glaring down at Rodney. “Ever.”

It seemed only prudent that Rodney let caution be the better part of valor; a dead scientist was almost as worthless as a bad scientist and Atlantis needed this interface fully functional in weeks, not months. It's not like he couldn’t be quiet; he was the king of quiet.

He _owned_ quiet.

“Yeah, no talking works for me.” Rodney turned his back on Ronon and went back to connecting the wires on one of the arrays. “You’re a lousy conversationalist anyway,” he said as Ronon walked away. “Way too sensitive.”

**

The nights were endless. They weren’t particularly cold but they were unbelievably boring. And they were definitely too cramped. Stuck in the puddle jumper, military issue mummy bags stretched out on the hard metal floor, the whole thing was oppressive. Ronon snored loud enough to rattle the walls and every time Rodney closed his eyes, the dark would press in around him and for a moment, he could feel water on his legs and hear the shifting crush of metal around him.

“Do you ever shut up?” Ronon grumbled the first night, pulling his sleeping bag up higher on his body and turning away.

“Oh, yeah, like the king of snoring has any right to talk,” Rodney said but Ronon was already asleep.

**

It was hard to find fault with a truce that worked so well. Rodney typed away on his laptop, conjugating angles and tweaking schematics. He'd move occasionally and bring over parts from the puddle jumper and hook them up, one and at time, to the main processor that he'd rigged up to a low-yield Naquada generator. No major problems with parts or plans, but he was still in the early stages of the whole thing and it all wouldn't get complicated until later in the week when he'd actually have to start making square pegs fit into round holes.

Ronon mostly dug. He'd managed five of the necessary fourteen holes that would house the triangulation beacons in a circle around the primary sensor array. He was sweaty and breathing hard and was taking too many water breaks. Every now and then, Rodney would get too caught up in his work and forget the whole 'no talking' agreement. He'd start commenting on the status of the system, or the repair of the equipment, sometimes the progress of the ever-important hole digging mission.

As the heat of the day wore on, Ronon stripped off his shirt and worked for a few hours bare-chested, the sheath holding his knife still strapped to his back, making him somehow look more dangerous than usual with all the sweat glistening skin. Rodney managed to ignore the skin and the sweat and the _everything_ until Ronon would flop over on the ground, arms behind his head, staring up at the canopy of trees like he had all the time in the world.

"Can't you dig faster? I could be finished at any-."

"Seven days, McKay. That's what you told Weir." Rodney glared at Ronon from across the perimeter.

"I know what I said. I said, _approximately_ seven days."

"Right." Ronon stretched back against the ground, pants pulling low across his hips. "I've got five more days. Only nine more holes."

"You should still dig faster."

"Eight foot deep holes, McKay. How fast do you think I should be digging?" He didn't even bother turning his head toward Rodney, instead sitting up and taking a long drink from his canteen. Stray water dripped down his chin, trailing along the tendons in his neck, to puddle in the groove between neck and chest. "The holes'll be done in time."

Rodney gulped.

**

Rodney woke up gasping, shivering and _feeling_ the water around his feet. Wet boots and wet socks and the creaking of metal starting to buckle and, damn it, drowning was a bad way to die.

The mummy bag was strangling him, wrapped around his body, and it took Ronon hitting him upside the arm before he could open his eyes enough to see the door of the cockpit and the outline of Ronon, big and not nearly as pretty as Colonel Carter, on the floor next to him.

“You’re killing me, McKay,” Ronon said before rolling over and going back to sleep.

“Oh, yeah, I can see the deathly pallor,” Rodney said, snorting and laying back down.

If he was an inch or two closer to Ronon’s bag, he could ignore it: small space and close sleeping bags was just SOP for off world missions.

**

Somewhere about the fourth day, Ronon got bored. At least, Rodney assumed that it was boredom that caused Ronon to start talking. Apparently, that whole strong silent thing was a complete and horrifying myth because once Ronon got started, it seemed pretty much impossible to shut him up.

He started off with physical training and the relative merits of daily runs and calisthenics; he described with painfully intricate relish the regimen he'd assign to the scientists that wasted away in labs playing with science and chess pieces. Rodney took the information and entertained himself by concocting elaborate training matrixes, and from the sheer amount of detail Ronon included, he imagined that he'd have to entirely redesign Excel to fit all the information into a reasonable number of cells.

Ronon included agility and endurance and strength training, and referenced them (using footnotes probably, because after almost twelve straight hours, Rodney had started visualizing a thesis outline, complete with bibliography and notes) with battle drills and offensive plans. An entire hole, which equaled one half-day, was devoted to firearms and weapons training with an addendum attached for artillery and the various methods of employing strategic defense systems.

It wasn't until the fifth day that Ronon started vocally designing the perfect personal weapon. He had a slightly dreamy expression on his face, his lips softened into an almost-smile, his goatee swaying with his movements.

This was not a random, spur-of-the-moment design; his hands caressed the shape of the weapon he'd traced in the air with smooth, familiar glides of fingers, soft brushes of his thumb, an elegantly flawless trigger pull. He compared and contrasted range vs. capacity and output vs. accuracy while providing an impressively scathing diatribe on the idiocy of the human invention of a 'safety.'

"It's called a _finger_ , McKay. What kind of idiot pulls a trigger by accident?" Ronon remarked.

Rodney nodded distractedly and only just caught Ronon's slight head tilt before he launched back into his thoughts on blast quadrants and trigger housings.

The last few days, he'd actually gotten fairly good at summing up entire conversations between them with hand gestures. Ronon's fingers twitching anywhere near his waist was usually a not-so-subtle code for _shut the hell up_ , a long pull from his canteen and casual glance toward Rodney was grudging acceptance at two-way conversation.

The first day on planet had mostly been twitching fingers and scathing looks, but the canteen was seeing more and more use, and while they weren’t really having conversations, there hadn’t been a death threat for at least 6 hours. At least not a serious one.

They were totally bonding.

**

On their second visit to the sensor site, Teyla and Sheppard brought some kind of meat-like thing that looked like beef and tasted like crap. Rodney would have preferred an MRE but Teyla had handed him the meal with a soft smile and head tilt, and Rodney couldn’t help but sit down and eat.

Teyla had that effect on him. Occasionally.

Ronon hadn’t fared much better, taking the plate of food with a nod before sitting heavily down on the log next to Rodney. The log was small, not really made for two, but it hadn’t made a difference before. Usually one of them sat inside the jumper while the other lingered outside until it was time to sleep.

Sheppard had fewer questions than expected about the status of the sensor array. “Will it be done on time?” He asked casually, eating a candy bar and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Because I’ve got to tell you, McKay, the locals don’t really want us hanging around longer than necessary.”

“Day after tomorrow,” Ronon answered before Rodney could finish chewing his almost-meat. Rodney glared at him.

“Of course it’ll be done on time, Colonel. Three sensors still need to be connected then the whole system needs to be configured before I can boot up ANDROID and run the test simulations. But--."

“Android?” Sheppard asked.

“Automated Network Defense and Remote Observation and Information Dataport,” Rodney said, taking a huge bite of some kind of vegetable before coughing and almost choking. “That’s what I’ve named it.” He took a sip of water from the canteen Ronon handed him. “It’s brilliant, really—“

“Not allowed to name things!” Sheppard interrupted, tossing a chocolate chip granola bar to Ronon. “So not allowed to name things!”

"Is there a reason it must be named?" Teyla asked in true fashion of a person who did not grow up naming cars and bikes and pets.

"Of course, it must be named!" Rodney flailed his arms in a circle, almost knocking a cup out of Ronon's hands. "Sorry, sorry," he said, opening his rucksack and rummaging around for his last Oreo Snack Pack.

"I'm thinking Star Wars," Sheppard said, idiotically.

"Star Wars? For a name?" Rodney glared. "Of all the-."

"You have something better?"

“ANDROID, I already—.“

“I said _something better_.”

"But--."

"The Net," Ronon interrupted, shrugging his shoulders and offering Teyla half of the granola bar. "That's what it is, right? A defense network?"

Rodney shook his head sadly. "Just ignore him. He has no grasp of Earth culture." Sheppard gave him a slightly puzzled look.

"I suppose you're the expert on Earth culture?" Ronon pointedly stared at the Marvin the Martian thermal socks Rodney had just pulled from his bag. "Because somehow, I doubt that."

"What? You don't even know who this is. Besides, they're comfortable. And warm. And they're --."

"Really not regulation," Sheppard said.

"Intriguing," Teyla added.

"Ridiculous," Ronon grunted.

 

**

The walls were buckling and there was a crack in the metal and the water was getting colder and colder and it was hard to breathe, gasping and gasping, and still not enough air and –

A hand reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking him roughly. Rodney opened his eyes to a dark, and dry, puddle jumper.

“Go back to sleep, McKay,” Ronon said.

Rodney closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep still feeling the warmth of a hand on his arm and hearing the smooth roughness of Ronon’s voice in his ear.

**

A rock was poking him in the knee and the wind kept blowing through the clearing, right up his nose and making him sneeze. He hadn’t sat on the ground for any length of time in at least a decade because he liked to think he was actually an adult now and furniture had long since been considered a good thing in Rodney’s life.

But instead of a good, solid desk or the climate controlled environment of the puddle jumper, Rodney was hunched on the ground over his laptop, Ronon hanging alongside of him, gesturing at the screen, saying, “No, make the muzzle longer,” and “Can you turn it- yeah, that way - and right there, move it—."

Rodney had woken up this morning, back aching, feeling almost suffocated by his mummy bag, sitting straight up, and saying, “Crystals! On your weapon! We could use crystals along side the firing pin so that—."

And that had turned yesterday’s weapon discussion from theoretical to practical. Rodney found himself strangely captivated by the idea of the perfect weapon. Something that could stun or kill; something that could actually take a Wraith down with a single shot instead of barely slowing one down after two full clips from a 9mm.

Something that he built from scratch as opposed to rigging and fixing and _making do_.

Surprisingly, Ronon actually described things almost like a scientist. He was exact and specific and it wasn’t ‘good muzzle velocity’ it was 'a muzzle velocity of 10.5’. It hadn’t really mattered that Ronon was talking in Sateda measurements and that it’d taken them a better part of an hour to get a reliable formula for converting Sateda metric into Earth metric.

Rodney had started jotting notes down by hand and spreading them out across the ground in obscure patterns of circuit schematics. He couldn’t waste the laptop memory on abstract weapon design and the paper reminded him a bit of his masters’ thesis advisor who had loved the feel of paper under his hands and the smell of ink on his fingertips. Made him think better, differently, he had said, and sometimes Rodney thought that maybe he'd been on to something.

In theory, the circuits of the weapon kept overloading and Rodney was sure it had something to do with the sequencing. Ronon would move along, setting rocks on the scraps of paper to keep them from blowing away and rearranging them with his own strange intuition. The primary circuit line was moved up and the secondary safety system was moved down and when Rodney noticed the changes he started screaming about _backwards mathematics_ until Ronon stomped off and started digging his holes again.

They didn’t talk for three hours.

Rodney incorrectly wired in a sensor and had to redo the programming twice to fix the problem. Ronon dug half a hole, bitching and mumbling under his breath and Rodney pretended not to hear any of the comments that were said just loud enough that they echoed through the clearing of trees around them. Dinner was quiet and the Chili Mac was horrifically bland and it wasn’t long before Rodney found himself standing over the scraps of paper, eyes squinting in the early evening sun, hands in his pockets and toeing the scraps into different directions and orders.

“Not right, that’ll never work, but maybe—“ he said to himself, until Ronon came over and stood close enough that Rodney could feel warmth from his arm and hear the soft gush of his breath.

“Still wrong,” Ronon complained and Rodney said, “Yeah,” and then they were both kneeling on the ground, moving papers and shifting rocks, their hands occasionally brushing as they reached for the same scrap.

…"Wait! If we switch from the single shot to automatic there's less accuracy control. Unless we -."…

…“Crystals? Really? Do they overload?...

…"Zat guns! Sheppard must have told you about the Zat guns. Dematerializes objects by - well, yeah, _of course_ , I could build one-."…

…"Yes, already. Shut up, would you? My God, you're like – but seriously, single shot and scatterblast – and I did _not_ forget the dematerialization, but that'll have to be on another circuit –.”…

…"Huh. Of course it's not too much. How could you even think that?"…

Their pace was bordering on frantic, moving paper and shooting questions back and forth. Ronon actually had a knack for recognizing where in the sequencing the circuit would overload. After a while, Rodney stopped reviewing the math in his head and just started going with Ronon’s instincts.

“How the hell do you do that?” Rodney finally asked.

“What? Know where the problem is?” He pointed to the last paper in the line and Rodney picked it up, studying their makeshift schematic. “Don’t know. When I was running, I had to redesign my weapon a few times so it’d take down the Wraith faster. Guess I just picked up on it.”

“You…what? You redesigned -- you know, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Rodney said, shifting closer as Ronon settled on the ground next to him. Even though it was still fairly light out, the temperature was dropping rapidly and Ronon gave off a lot of body heat.

“You weren’t really just a soldier were you?” Ronon turned to look at him. “Please. I’m not completely oblivious. I do pick up on details,” Rodney said, insulted, when Ronon raised his eyebrow in surprise.

Ronon’s lips quirked and on anyone else’s face it probably would have been a smile.

“I was a soldier.”

“And?” Rodney moved a last piece of paper two spots over and then sat back on his heels, waiting for Ronon’s answer.

“And I was a leader.”

Rodney nodded his head. “Right, okay.” Rodney couldn't imagine how Ronon had managed to not share that bit of information in his many debriefings since joining the Atlantis expedition. But information was power and in this case --, “So, if the Wraith hadn't, you know--," Rodney waved his hand around in the air, "destroyed your planet, would you outrank Sheppard by now?"

Oh yeah, _lots_ of power Rodney decided when Ronon’s face broke out in a true smile.

 _Lots_.

 

**

 

Colonel Carter, her hair wet and slicked back, shirt see-through, oh, yes, white and lacey and definitely see-through, but she was saying, _die, going to die, trust them, give them more time_ but the water was rushing in and he couldn’t feel his feet anymore and –

A body shoved up against him, heat scalding his back, drying him off and chasing away the cold, and it wasn’t smooth skin and blond hair; it was dark dreads and the smell of musk and sandalwood, and the feel of leather and prickly linen scratching against his arms.

“Go to sleep,” a sleep-rough voice said in his ear.

Rodney reached behind, touched the warmth and went to sleep.

**

Breakfast was silent and involved Ronon staring at Rodney and Rodney staring at the ground. There wasn't a lot of history to call upon here for polite conversation and Rodney generally wanted to keep it that way.

Later, Rodney snapped his laptop shut, walked over to where Ronon was digging away on the last hole and hung his head over the edge.

“About last night--,” Rodney said, even though it was the _last_ thing he wanted to talk about.

“No.” Ronon turned his back on Rodney and kept digging.

“Right.” Rodney stood at the edge of the hole, looking down at Ronon’s back, already sweaty and streaked with dirt. “Okay. But you know--."

“Yeah, I know.” Ronon kept digging.

**

On the next-to-last day, Rodney looked up and caught site of Ronon drinking water from a beaten-up canteen. His face was smudged with dirt, two leaves were caught in a dread near his temple, and his shirt had long since been stripped off and was lying dejectedly over a stack of nearby metal casings.

"What?" Ronon asked, catching Rodney's eye and lowering the canteen to toss it carelessly next to his shirt. "Problem?"

"Not so much, no," Rodney said right before he lunged.

Between kisses Ronon said, "What the hell," and Rodney licked back into his mouth and sneered, "Just—I'm _doing_ something here. Enjoy it. Scientists from across the universe have _begged_ -"

"Fuck that," Ronon interrupted, twisting around until he was pressed down against Rodney, toe to chest, his tongue thrusting and pushing and making obscene motions inside and around Rodney's mouth.

And _fuck_ , it was good. Rough hands and hard body and coarse hair; goatee scratching across his face and neck, leaving marks, and nothing, _nothing_ , about this resembled anything in his experiences with desk-softened bodies and numerical dirty talk.

Ronon got Rodney's shirt hiked up, touching skin with shovel-callused hands. He sat up long enough to strip off his own shirt before thrusting back down, warm sweaty skin everywhere – back and chest and arms. Rodney shoved his knee up, pushing against Ronon's cock, hard inside the leather, pushing Ronon away enough that he could get a hand down between them to fumble for buttons or zippers or--

"Fuck, how do I-?" Rodney yanked harder on Ronon's pants, fumbling and hopelessly lost in the tangles of string and unfamiliar fastenings. Wrapping his arms around Ronon's hips he pushed out raggedly between kisses, "Wait, I need to-."

His hands were batted away and Ronon’s fingers were already there, pushing something one way and pulling something the other way, and then there was skin and hair and _cocks_ touching, finally, and Rodney could stop worrying about pants and worry about all the places he could grab.

And he was close, too close for a quick fumble in the dirt. Ronon was biting down his neck, hard and a little painful, licking into his ear and around his neck and nosing up into the hair at his temple; his mouth was everywhere and his hands were following. Rodney could feel the muscles bunching along Ronon's shoulders and the sweat-slick skin at the base of his spine and the way Ronon's body practically shook apart when Rodney wrapped a leg around his hip, pulling them more tightly together.

Ronon grabbed Rodney's hands, holding them down against the ground, thrusting relentlessly, and grunting out, "McKay," as Rodney gasped and came. Ronon's teeth sank into Rodney's neck, sharp stinging bites until his body clenched and he toppled down onto Rodney, exhausted, and seemingly unconcerned that it felt like he weighed a ton.

And then, it was like it never happened. Ronon rolled off, standing and holding out his hand to boost Rodney gracelessly up. He adjusted his pants, doing up buttons or ties or _whatever_ the hell it was holding up the leather. He looked over at Rodney and raised an unconcerned eyebrow.

"Huh," Ronon said. "Okay." And he walked a few feet, bent over to pick up his shovel and headed to the far corner of the perimeter to start digging the next hole.

Rodney considered throwing something at him.

 

That night, Rodney crawled into the jumper, tired and exhausted and one sensor behind. Ronon was stretched out in the middle of floor, sleeping bag open, hands behind his head, looking at up the ceiling like there was something to see besides wires and bulkheads. Rodney said, "Hey," and Ronon ignored him and that was even worse than Ronon walking away earlier, leaving Rodney sweaty and come covered and wanting _more_ and _again_.

Rodney didn't even pretend to try and sleep. He stripped off his clothes, flopped down on the floor and rolled over on top of Ronon, taking his mouth in a bruising kiss, biting down his neck, leaving marks on his chest. It was desperation and maybe a little bit of anger and just…need. Ronon walking around all afternoon, shirtless, smelling of come and sex and _Rodney_ , and Rodney having to stand there and pretend not to notice.

Ronon growled low in his throat and wrapped his hands around the back of Rodney's neck, pulling him closer and pushing him down. Licking down Ronon's chest, Rodney said, "yes, oh my god, yes," nuzzling into the hair around Ronon's cock before swallowing him down.

It was fast, and Rodney knew he was maybe a little clumsy, and he was probably sucking too hard and his hand couldn't quite catch the rhythm of his mouth but Ronon was moaning, low in his throat, and saying, "fuck, okay, yeah," so Rodney figured that he couldn't have been too bad. And when Ronon finally came, his body tensed up and his hands wound into Rodney's hair, pulling and moving, holding Rodney and keeping him there and it would have been annoying if it hadn't been so hot.

Rodney let the cock slide from his mouth with a last suck. He crawled up Ronon's body, rubbing against the hard legs and thrusting roughly against skin and hair and, _fuck_ , Ronon was lying there, eyes closed, breathing harshly and Rodney was desperate.

"Hey, hey, waiting here." Rodney pushed his dick against Ronon's hip. "Do you have any idea how hard this floor is? My knees were already sore and now they're probably permanently damaged because of a _blowjob_ and… you can't possibly be going to sleep."

"Not a chance." Ronon opened his eyes and wrapped his hand around Rodney's neck, pulling him down, kissing into his mouth with smooth, easy strokes of tongue. "Touch yourself. I want to watch."

"Yes, yes, wow, okay—" Rodney climbed up beside Ronon, wrapping his hand around his cock and looking down at dark eyes and messy dreads and Ronon's lips looking red and swollen and bruised. "Just--."

His strokes started slow and long, he thought about teasing himself and maybe teasing Ronon, but Ronon was watching, his eyes staring: at Rodney's hands and Rodney's cock and quick, fleeting looks into Rodney's face. He sped up his hand, not fast enough, but a little rough and a little dry and Ronon was _right there_ and when he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Rodney's hand, just holding on, along for the ride, Rodney groaned and moved faster.

Hand whipping down the length of his cock, up and down, and Ronon was saying, "fuck, McKay, come on," and Rodney would have bitched about being called McKay in the middle of this _thing_ but Ronon's voice was sort of gravelly, and, _Christ_ , he was close.

Ronon let go of his cock and reached up, rolling Rodney's nipple between his fingers, tugging and pulling too hard, and it _hurt_ but Ronon was gasping like it was Rodney's hand jacking him and Rodney's hand tugging on his nipple, and it was too much, way too much.

He leaned up, grabbed Rodney's head and whispered harshly in his ear, "Now, now." Rodney groaned and came.

When he woke up, Rodney's ass was cold. He was pressed against a cold metal bench, naked skin against the floor of the jumper, his sleeping bag tossed haphazardly over him. An ache was settling into his joints, body stiff and sore, and tomorrow (today, really, when he pushed the Indiglo button on his watch) was going to be horribly painful.

"Hey, you could have woken me up! I'm sleeping on the _bare metal floor_. Do you realize how susceptible I am to illness?"

"Yeah? You're the genius, spread out your sleeping bag before you jump me next time."

"Like you were complaining. Oh, yes, _I want to watch you_ is so easily mistaken for _stop and open up your sleeping bag first_." Rodney cringed as his body slid across the metal floor, wiggling around enough until he could spread out his sleeping bag. Heaving out a sigh, he climbed inside and zipped all the way up.

"McKay--," Ronon started. "Just shut up."

 

**

The next day, they celebrated the successful activation of the system with sex against a tree. Or at least, Rodney celebrated and Ronon went along for the orgasm. Rodney didn't even mind the bark pushing painfully into his back or the sweat pouring down between their bodies (because, yes, if it wasn't for the blindingly good sex the day would be too hot for naked skin and bodies pressed close).

"Do you realize that," Rodney was saying, as Ronon shoved Rodney hard against the tree, wrapping his hand into Rodney's shirt and pulling him tight. "That this network will increase the scanning range by -- _oh my God, do that again_ \-- I mean, increase it by--." Ronon pushed his tongue into Rodney's mouth, opening both their pants with one hand, pulling out their cocks and starting to slowly jack them. Their cocks rubbed together, rough and not-gentle, and Ronon's tongue was doing nasty things to the inside of Rodney's mouth until he was moaning and straining forward and saying, "Never mind, forget it. Who cares? I sure as hell – _fuck, harder_ \--."

It'd been years since he'd had this much sex. Sleeping bags and jumper floors and in the _dirt_ , and even that summer in Berkeley that'd he spent mostly naked with the grad student next door, he'd never managed this many spine-crumbling orgasms in a 24-hour period.

Today they’d monitor the system and tomorrow they’d go back to Atlantis and Rodney was looking forward to sex in a bed.

This dirt thing was getting old.

**

The trip back through the gate was long.

“It’s already decided, Rodney,” Sheppard said, stepping out of the jumper and walking toward the door as Rodney continued yelling, "It's ANDROID. I am _so_ allowed to name things. I _invented_ -" Sheppard glared, raising his eyebrow and Rodney corrected, "Okay! Alright! I _fixed_ it and it's called ANDROID."

Sheppard smirked and Rodney wondered if they taught that in the Air Force because he distinctly remembered General O'Neill having that exact look. "We're calling it _Star Wars_ -."

"Of all the stupid, stupid-."

"In honor of the Earth-based strategic defense system."

"Do you mean the one that _failed_?"

"Look…."

Obviously the argument wasn't going to end today and in true fashion, they started leaving rude email messages for each other on the network system, made snide remarks in briefings, and industriously tried to woo the rest of Atlantis to their way of thinking.

It took five days before they realized that Ronon has subverted them both.

'The Net' was the hot topic of conversation among both the military and civilian contingent. Apparently, the name had never really been an issue but somehow both Rodney and Sheppard had missed the obvious. Ronon had simply stepped back through the gate, dropped a few hints about ‘The Net’ to a few critical ears, and the name had stuck.

Rodney felt completely justified in blaming Zelenka. It was always his fault anyway.

**

Their first night back on Atlantis, Rodney pounded on the door to Ronon's quarters, glaring at the airman that shuffled by warily.

"What are you doing here?" Ronon stared at Rodney from the other side of the doorway, shirtless, low-riding pants riding lower than usual.

"What do you think I'm doing here? My _God_ you can't possibly be—."

Ronon shook his head and stepped fully into the doorway, blocking Rodney's path into the room.

"Okay, fine. You really are that much of an idiot!" Rodney lowered his shoulder and levered himself into the room, stumbling over the boots by the door and the field pack Ronon never used by the bed. "Wonderful. I'm about to have sex with a moron."

“Who said you’re about to have sex?”

Rodney spluttered, “No sex? You’re joking right? Because obviously, I think much better when I’m getting laid regularly. Atlantis should be thanking you.”

“Sacrifice myself for the good of everyone? By having sex with you? McKay, you’re--.”

“A genius, I know. Now,” Rodney stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Ronon’s waist, pulling him close and tipping them both over onto the bed. “I’m thinking blowjobs. Have I told you how much I love blowjobs?”

“Is there anything you don’t like?” Ronon asked, shrugging, and working his hands into Rodney’s pants, tugging off the belt and undoing buttons.

“Not really, no,” Rodney said. He sat up and pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it somewhere toward the door. “Naked is good. Get your clothes off because there’s no way in hell I’m attempting those pants of yours again.”

Ronon snorted, tackling Rodney to the bed and rolling them over a few times. “Things to do first,” he said, trailing his tongue along Rodney’s neck and biting at his Adam’s Apple.

**

“You’re still here,” Ronon grumbled, hours later, when he rolled over in bed and ran into Rodney. “You can leave now.”

“Mmmm…sleeping, here. Leave me alone.” Rodney buried his face back in the pillow, slapping at the annoying hand that kept shoving at his shoulder. “ _Sleeping_!” He grunted out, willing himself back into dreams of sex and blowjobs.

“No, McKay. You need to leave.” Rodney forced his eyes open enough to see Ronon glaring at him from the other side of the bed. “Now.”

Ronon’s leg shoved out, connecting with Rodney’s hip and pushing until he went sprawling, ass-down, on the floor.

“Right, right. I’m leaving.” Rodney struggled up, groping for his pants and hopping around on one leg long enough to pull them on. “You could have just said so, you know,” he complained, pulling on his shirt and stumbling out the door.

**

Rodney spent five minutes hollering for Ronon over the radio before Sheppard answered, breathlessly, “McKay, what the hell is going on?”

“What? Was I calling you? Because amazingly, you don’t even _sound_ like—“

“McKay.” Ronon’s voice boomed through the headset, directly into Rodney’s ear and he shivered a little at the sound – gravelly and deep and slightly annoyed.

“Finally! What the hell have you been doing? The entire base could have been destroyed and—!” Rodney was shouting, annoyed and irritated and wondering why Sheppard was answering Ronon’s radio call if they were both in the training room.

“McKay, get to the point.”

“Fine! Get down to my lab. Now.” Rodney keyed off the mike and took great pleasure in ignoring the yells of protest.

Five minutes later, Ronon came stalking through into the lab, Sheppard strolling behind, both damp with sweat, their clothes wrinkled and untucked. The start of a bruise was blooming nicely on Sheppard’s cheek and two of the rings on Ronon’s dreads were dangling by a hair. The scientists in the room took one look at Ronon’s face and backed away cautiously, suddenly engrossed in their work.

“Finally! Took you long enough! Look, whatever you were doing can wait but right now-,” Rodney grabbed Ronon’s arm, pulling his closer to the work bench where crystals and metal casings and wires were scattered around. “Put this together.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ronon said, glaring down at Rodney’s hand. “Sheppard and I were busy.”

“Oh, yes, _right_ , as if self-defense practice is somehow more important. _Please_.” Rodney rolled his eyes and tugged harder on Ronon’s arm. “Trust me, you’ll love this.”

Finally, _finally_ , he stepped forward and Rodney wondered if he’d even keep Ronon around if it wasn’t for the great sex, and that voice that whispered the world’s best obscenities in his ear, and that occasional half-smile that made Rodney’s chest clench smugly, because he was the only one that got to see that smile on Ronon’s face.

“This is the--,” Ronon started and Rodney shouted, “Yes! Yes! The pieces to the weapon. I figured out the problems with the dematerialization but the sequencing is still wrong - so wrong, I might add – but you can start piecing it together so we can run it through some tests.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” Sheppard asked. He walked closer to the lab table, looking at the scattering of parts, his eye finally catching the printed schematic on the corner of the desk. “What’s--?” He started, pointing to the paper then looking shocked when both Rodney and Ronon turned toward him and growled, “Later.”

Ronon shoved up against Rodney, squeezing his body in close, his eyes wide and looking around. He grabbed a crystal first and a metal casing and started twisting them around, looking at them from all angles. Rodney shoved tools at him, scissors and pliers and little circuit testers and Ronon would growl, “I need the other thing -- with the pointed ends that’ll—, “ and Rodney would storm off and yell for someone to bring him the needle nose pliers.

Occasionally, Sheppard would reach into the fray on the table, grabbing something and shaking it around. Ronon would glare at him and Sheppard would drop whatever he was holding, hurt, like a kid that had his slapped out of the cookie jar.

“Again, what are you doing? And more importantly, why are you doing it _together_?” Sheppard asked, again and again, and Rodney kept throwing the clipped off ends of wire at his head and saying, “Do you not know the meaning of _shut up_? Because, seriously--.”

Ronon was busy with the screwdriver, fitting tiny pieces into tiny holes and for such a big man his hands were surprisingly adept at moving about the small spaces. Long fingers (piano fingers and Rodney knew that later tonight he’d be bite along the length, sucking down the tip and making Ronon grunt in that way he had) attaching wires together and holding them apart, letting Rodney squeeze between and check the circuits.

Rodney kept pointing and demanding, “put those together – no, no! – not that one – just, yes, that one. My God, has being back on Atlantis killed off the last of your brain cells--?”

They were standing close together, hips brushing, skin touching along the length of their arms. Rodney could feel Ronon’s heat burning into him, hot and wonderful and familiar, and he kept having to catch his breath and concentrate every time Ronon would reach under Rodney’s arm, stretching to grab a hold of a piece of metal, pulling it out and moving it around.

Finally, Ronon said, “It’s going to overload,” shoving aside Rodney’s hands and pointing to another stray crystal on the desk.

“Right. That’s _fine_. We need to know the upper limits of the conduit.” Rodney grabbed the crystal, blue, softly glowing when his hand brushed across it and inserted it into the opening made by Ronon’s wires.

The crystal sparked, once, twice, then the glow dimmed and Ronon shook his head. “Yeah. Told you so.”

Rodney snorted, picked up his PDA and scribbled a note. “Look, just take this.” He pulled out a box, an overflowing plastic bin, out from underneath the workbench and shoved it into Ronon’s hands. He wouldn’t admit that he’d spent the last two weeks putting the box together after he got kicked out of Ronon’s room each night. “And go over there.” He waved his hands toward the table in the corner of the room.

“And?” Ronon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“ _And_? And what do you think? It’s another set of pieces for the energy weapon. Go! Put it together! And this time, don’t overload it.” Rodney waved his hand toward the empty table in the back corner of the room. “As interesting as this is, I have actual _work_ to do.”

Rodney flopped down onto his stool and pulled out his laptop and brought up the latest set of diagnostics. He shivered in the cool air, already missing the warmth of Ronon’s arm.

**

Three weeks after they returned to Atlantis, Ronon fucked Rodney for the first time.

Rodney stepped into Ronon’s room, out-of-breath and already hard, and pushed him against the door, biting down his neck and pulling his shirt up and off.

“Fuck, this is so good,” Rodney moaned around Ronon’s skin. “So good.” He bit down hard on a nipple and Ronon jerked, threading his fingers through Rodney’s hair and holding him tight.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Ronon thrust his hips against Rodney, slow and hard, pushing them together, bringing them closer until they were both trembling.

“Look, wait. I’ve been thinking.” Rodney pushed away, grabbing Ronon’s waistband and dragging him toward the bed. “You should fuck me now. Right now,” Rodney said, tossing a small container of lube onto the bed and starting to open Ronon’s pants -- strings _and_ ties _and_ goddamn buttons _and_ –, “Christ, I hate your pants.”

Ronon groaned and tumbled them both onto the bed. He licked into Rodney’s mouth, quick and hard and not even trying to pretend that he wasn’t hot and needy and wanting exactly what Rodney was offering.

“Yeah, now,” Ronon said, sitting up enough to tug off both their shirts and pants, socks and shoes. Buttons ripped and the desperation made fingers clumsy and clothes difficult. Finally naked, Ronon rolled Rodney over, kissing down his back, licking at his spine and slicking two fingers inside, saying, “Rodney,” like he was gasping for his last breath.

Rodney kept saying, “more” and “yes” and “now, now, now. What are you _waiting_ for?” until Ronon pushed inside, one long, rough stroke, in and out, moving fast and building it up, and Rodney was moaning, “hey, hey, not that fast! Have you ever heard the term slow and steady? Because, seriously, you should -- _oh my god_ , yes, do that again--.”

And maybe it didn’t last as long as it should have, but it was good in all the ways Rodney thought sex could never be good. Familiar and easy, and sarcasm wrapped around every touch; there weren’t lists of things he was trying not to say, or lists of things he knew he should be saying.

It was just them. And whatever changes may have occurred in the last month, one thing hadn’t changed: they still worked.

**

Gall’s shirt had been blue that day, a cheap blue, dirty and blood stained, and Rodney didn’t really want to know why he had chosen to remember that detail three years too late but he had, and he doubted that he’d ever be ever to forget it, especially now that Elizabeth had handed him a letter with cheap-looking, smudged blue ink written in a curvy script and signed with the name Natalie Gall.

*The Air Force recently was able to give us new information regarding the circumstances of Brendan’s death. We can’t tell you how much we appreciated--* it started and Rodney stopped reading, crumpling the paper in his hand.

Not wanting to remember the look in Gall’s eye in those last minutes when it’d just been Rodney and Gall and an expanse of fear between them. He’d said that Rodney had changed since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy and it wasn’t until later that Rodney realized that Gall had known the truth before Rodney had even known there was a truth to be discovered.

The distance between that life and this life couldn’t be measured in anything except light years.

He looked down and saw that his hands were shaking, knew that he had to read the rest of the letter because to do anything less would be unthinkable. But the last thing he wanted to do was open the paper and look at her handwriting, knowing that while he may have been able to bully enough of the Air Force brass to get some of the details of Gall’s death declassified, there were still too many details that would never be shared.

The lab around him was loud, conversations in at least six languages, mostly about ‘The Net’ and how they were going to start deciphering the thousands of small anomalies the system was picking up on a daily basis: astronomical data and glitches and spatial uncertainties that questioned the basic tenets of their understanding of the universe.

Gall would have loved it.

Rodney stuffed the crumbled paper in his pocket and it felt heavy, weighing him down and slowing him down, and before he could quite figure out what he was doing he was keying the mike on his headset, not entirely sure of the reasons, but knowing there was one place he needed to be.

“Dex, this is McKay. What’s your location?”

He was already walking out the door when Ronon answered.

When Rodney walked through the door, Ronon was sitting on the floor in one corner of the armory, the pieces of their energy weapon spread out around him, the armoror sitting watching in silent awe as Ronon sanded down firing pins, realigned crystals and reassembled the weapon in various configurations.

“Figured it out yet?” Rodney asked, walking close and letting his knee brush against Ronon’s back.

“No.” Ronon pulled out a crystal and tossed it back to Rodney. “I think that one shorted out.”

Rodney caught the crystals and looked at the blackened scorch marks on one side. “You think? You tried to up the power on the energy burst, didn’t you? Told you not to,” Rodney said, exasperated, because it’s not like they had an unlimited supply of crystals.

They’d decided to move the weapon prototype into the armory. Rodney hadn’t liked the decision but Elizabeth had insisted, saying something about safety and security and weapon accountability. He was pretty sure that Caldwell had something to do with it since he’d started stopping by the armory almost daily and fondling the weapon with a dreamy expression on his face.

Imagining the bodies of dead Goa’uld and Wraith happily dancing in his head, probably.

“What’s going on?” Ronon asked, tossing aside a few pieces of wire.

Rodney shrugged and moved around until he could dig into his pocket and pull out the crumpled piece of paper and hand it to Ronon. Ronon opened it up and Rodney watched his eyes move back and forth with the words. “Huh.”

“Your eloquence in the face of my pain is truly underwhelming.”

Ronon grunted out something that may have been a laugh and Rodney slid down the wall, settling down next to him, close, until Ronon grunted and elbowed him in the side, pushing him away a little. The inches felt like too much, making him want the press of a strong leg against his thigh, the hot touch of skin against his shoulder. But the tight pressure that had been building deep inside his chest eased somewhat. He took a deep breath, letting it out and resting his head back against the wall.

Rodney found himself watching Ronon’s hands on the weapon, piecing together and taking apart, and Rodney knew that Ronon had found the right configuration two days ago, but he kept trying to squeeze a little more power out of the sequence, a little more energy out of the blast.

It probably wasn’t possible, but then again, Rodney understood wanting more than you could have.

Rodney had the last three papers Gall had written in his room, in a binder labeled “Not Entirely Stupid”. It was buried under a stack of toppling papers, in the back corner of his room, not forgotten, but not close. Not obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking.

It wouldn’t take much to change a few details and take out a few paragraphs. He could pack them up, call in the favor Caldwell owed him, and Gall’s parents would have the papers by Christmas.

It’d never be enough, for them or for Rodney, but at least it’d be something.

For a while, he sat there, leaning against a wall in the armory, a Marine glaring at them from across the small room, and Ronon sitting quietly beside him. Rodney reached out and let his hand settle on Ronon’s thigh: something solid and something real, and maybe for once, something _enough_.

Snorting Rodney said, “By the way, you do realize that you pretty much failed at supporting me through my emotional trauma, right?” He turned toward Ronon, slapping him hard on the thigh. “You could have at least attempted to soothe my abused psyche with something more than _Huh_.”

**

Rodney's first clue was the silence -- typing stopped and Zelenka's conversation with Fernandez came to a stuttering halt. The usual obnoxious high energy trickled down to an oppressive quiet that had Rodney, never looking up from his laptop, asking the room at large, "What? Do you people understand the concept of work? Noise! Work!"

He waved his hand vaguely behind him and went back to connecting circuit testers to various points on the new piece of equipment that Sheppard had found in a closed room off the East Pier. There were a handful of lights glowing softly and he was starting to think that maybe it was some sort of Ancient iPod because the lights were flashing in an elegant rhythm with an alternating bass line chord movement.

A bit like Bach with a few key elements of Chopin and definitely lacking the elegance of Mozart. It was giving him a headache.

"McKay. I'm hungry."

Rodney started and dropped the circuit tester as a big hand dropped firmly down on his shoulder. He turned to see Ronon standing next to him, no weapons, no knives, not even wearing his radio.

"Yes, yes, that's fascinating I'm sure. Is there something you'd like me to do about this? Because, seriously, did you not notice that I'm _busy_?" Rodney shook the hand off his shoulder and looked back to the iPod. The lights were boringly still now and only started flashing again when Rodney picked it up again and rubbed one hand softly over the face.

An advanced locking system, maybe. Hard to tell with Ancient equipment since they made control centers that looked like chairs and deadly missiles that looked like sea creatures.

"I'm hungry and the mess hall is serving dinner. You should come with me."

The equipment went clattering back onto the table with a soft shriek of metal and a sputtering of lights.

"What?" Rodney was too disturbed by the fact that Ronon wanted to eat with him, in the mess hall, that he only barely registered the surprised gasps of the others in the room. "Dinner? With me?" Turning to face Ronon, he shook his head. “Why?”

“I was passing by. Seemed the thing to do.” Ronon’s jaw was clenched and Rodney could see his fist opening and closing in smooth movements.

“Are you _mental_? Because this is,” Rodney shook his head, looking around the room at the scientists that were openly staring. “Well, not like you.”

“Look,” Ronon said, taking a step back and pointedly not looking around. He was staring at Rodney, mouth set tightly, vein in his neck bulging in tension. “Just –.” He took a deep breath. “Rodney.”

“There’s no way you were just passing by,” Rodney said, wishing for once that he was the sort of person that could understand all the undercurrents in a conversation. _Passing by_ wasn’t even a remote possibility since the lab was on the way to nothing except the office supply storage room and the botany bio-environment.

“Yeah, not so much.” Ronon crossed his arms across his chest and looked around the lab, glaring at the few scientists who didn’t realize that was their cue to go about their business.

Rodney sighed and blinked slowly, reaching out and almost, but not quite, touching Ronon’s arm. “Yes. Definitely dinner.” Rodney shook his head and started packing up the day’s work. “Good timing, too. My blood sugar’s thirty minutes away from taking a dive.”

**

"You realize that you’ve completely upped my reputation among the scientists. You take me to dinner once and suddenly, every person in the lab wants to sleep with me." Rodney complained, pushing open the door to Ronon's quarters without bothering to knock. “ _Now_ they want to sleep with me when I’m completely off the market. That’s so unfair.”

“You’re off the market?” Ronon blinked at him from where he was sprawled out on his bed, weapons cleaning kit propped up next to him.

“Don’t make me think that you’re a complete idiot again.” Rodney started tugging off his boots, tossing them in the corner.

"Right.” Ronon shook his head. “You know, most people knock."

"Knock? Why?" Rodney shrugged off his uniform jacket and climbed up on the bed and over Ronon's legs. The weapons cleaning kit went sliding, spilling the gun oil on the bed.

"Damn it," Ronon said, hastily moving aside and wiping up the mess with a cloth.

"You're language is horrible. You've been running with the Marines, haven't you?" Rodney asked. He grabbed a pillow from behind Ronon's back and flopped down on the bed. "God, I'm tired."

Ronon rustled around, the mattress dipping alarmingly, and rolling Rodney toward the middle as Ronon stretched out. Rodney closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of gun oil and leather and that increasingly familiar musky scent.

"Tired, huh?" Ronon asked, moving closer until his legs tangled with Rodney's, all mixed up and wrapped around each, until Rodney wasn't sure if his legs were in-between, or on top, or if it even mattered.

"Hmmm," Rodney hummed, burying his head deeper into the pillow and reaching out blindly and pulling Ronon's closer by the front of his shirt. "Not so much maybe."

Ronon rolled on top of Rodney, pressing bodies close, a little heavy, a little hard, until Rodney moaned and wrapped his fingers into Ronon's hair and pulled him down into a kiss.

Slow kisses and hard, stinging bites, fingers and tongues, and, fuck, it was good -- the sex and the touching and _Ronon_. It didn’t take long until they were gasping, panting out names and moaning softly against skin. Rodney refused to give up the dry spot and Ronon settled the argument by rolling on top, and pressing down hard until Rodney gasped out, “Okay, okay, I’ll share,” and rolling to the dry side of the bed, pulling Ronon close against him.

They were wrapped together, their clothes in a pile on the floor, the room heavy with the taste of come and pleasure and ocean air. Rodney's body felt sated and he knew that the walk back to his own quarters would stretch out endlessly in the near future.

Rodney looked to the door, thought of cold floors beneath his feet and the odd looks from the people in the hallway. _Who had he been with_ and _why wasn’t he still there_ and the ongoing bets on how lousy he was in bed and, damn it, he was tired of the talk.

He was _excellent_ in bed.

All the gossip and the stupid, sly looks from his scientists, and it’s not like he _cared_ , but it’d be nice to get mildly envious looks once in a while (he was sleeping with a man that gave leather pants a good name after all).

Kicking Ronon in the leg, he shoved him over and crawled under the covers. It was late and he was tired and maybe he wouldn’t be getting a middle-of-the-night blowjob but that certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t get off by giving one.

Good enough, really.

Later, Rodney woke up with drool on his pillow and a stiff muscle in his neck. Ronon rolled off his shoulder, shoved him almost hard in the ribs and said, “You can leave now,” in a sleep rough voice.

Rodney slapped away Ronon's hand and groggily mumbled, "Just shut up. There's no way I'm leaving," then yanked up the blankets until he was wrapped inside the warmth. "And so you know, I fully expect morning sex.”

Ronon grunted and rolled away. As good as _yes_ Rodney figured and went back to sleep.

 

**

 

"I'll be right there," Rodney said, pushing the button and setting the headset back on the table. Not an emergency situation, but just critical enough that the on-duty scientists didn't want to wait the four hours till Rodney would normally come on duty.

He stretched back on the bed, letting his shoulder brush against Ronon where he was spread eagle, face down on the bed. Naked, a thin sheet pulled up only as high as his waist. He should have been cold, should have at least _looked_ cold but instead was warm and his face was relaxed and he was sound enough asleep that even the soft squawking of Rodney's headset hadn't really woken him.

Rodney tried to slip quietly out of bed, pushing back the blanket, and leaning over enough that he could just reach the t-shirt tossed over the nightstand.

Ronon rolled over and forced one eye blurrily open, squinting against the soft light in the room. "Something happen?"

"Not really. Just my science team being completely incompetent again," he said, not really meaning it; he'd rather they call him now then later, when the glitch became a problem that would cause something to blow up or otherwise cause him to fear for his life.

Grunting, Ronon reached over and wrapped his hand around Rodney's arm, pulling him closer to the bed. "Coming back later?" He asked, face smashed into his pillow, voice muffled and sleepy.

Rodney stopped, frozen in place by _this_ \-- something different, something new, some sort of weird anomaly that had Rodney’s world view shifting. "Well, yes, if I have time before breakfast."

"Huh." He tugged on Rodney's arm, pulling him closer and forcing him down until Ronon could lick across Rodney's lips, a slow sleepy kiss with bitter morning breath that Rodney thought he wanted to spend a lifetime getting used to and just enough heat that he knew he'd rush through the repairs and be back here before breakfast because it absolutely wasn't too late for morning sex.

"Yeah, okay. That's good," Ronon said, pushing Rodney gently away, letting go of his arm and pulling up the covers to go back to sleep.

Rodney smiled, brushed his thumb softly against Ronon’s cheek and went to work.


End file.
